20 Work in Progress #2
Apprehension spread through my gut as I reread his text, wondering what to make of it.
I’d spent too many hours trying to heal my heart to allow it to fall prey, once more, to the incurable disease of hope.
I hovered in my empty living room, too scared to open the front door.
I was fully aware that another disappointment would cause devastating damage to my spirit.
But a part of me, the one that had grown up watching SRK movies and dreaming about my own happy ending, begged me to go outside.
After ten minutes of agonising conflict, I unlatched the door and peeked out.
At first glance, there was no sign of him.
My mother’s carefully tended garden was empty, glowing in the rays of the setting sun.
I craned my neck further, which is when I saw him.
Leaning against his red Kia, he was looking right at me.
I shut the door behind me and slowly made my way to him. Still in my workout tights and neon tank top, I knew I must’ve resembled a sweaty, brightly clad pig – I was certainly no Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman when Richard Gere shows up at her doorstep.
Aadar, on the other hand, was as charming as ever. He wore a blue linen kurta and faded jeans. His curls were longer than I’d ever seen them, spilling over his forehead in a gorgeous mess. He uncrossed his arms and straightened up his tall, delicious body as I reached him.
‘How did you know I’d be home?’ I asked, eager to get the first word in.
I wanted to fool my brain into thinking I was in control of this conversation.
‘I took a chance,’ he said. ‘It’s a Saturday, so I figured you wouldn’t be at work.’
I nodded, then said, ‘I quit my job.’
He gave me a warm smile. ‘That’s great. I know you weren’t happy there.’
If he expected me to return his warmth, he was in for a surprise. I stayed silent, feeling him studying my face for a sign of emotion. I hoped that I’d be able to maintain the facade of indifference under his scrutiny.
He cleared his throat and said, ‘I wanted to say something to you … and it didn’t feel right to text it. So I came to see you.’
‘What?’ My mouth had dried up and the word came out as a croak.
He took a deep breath.
‘It took me a while… but I know now that she was never the one for me,’ he said, trying to find and hold my gaze. ‘You are.’
Abruptly, I turned away from him. In the last few weeks, I’d played out countless versions of this scene in my head.
I had pictured him here, seeking me out, saying these very words.
But instead of the joy and triumph I had expected to wash over me, I was overcome with anger and resentment. It was too much.
Without another word, I began walking in the direction of my house.
‘Ananya, wait.’ He was hot on my heels. ‘Please, just hear me out?’
‘Why?’ I barked at him when we were outside my garden. ‘Because you’d so patiently listened to me when I had come to you?’
‘I …’ he began saying, but I cut him off.
‘What had you said that day …?’ I pretended to think, then said, ‘I’m too old to be playing these games with you.’
What kind of games was he playing now?
‘I know, I know I fucked up,’ he said, reaching out to take my hand in his.
I recoiled at his touch and he held his hands up in surrender.
‘How bloody convenient.’ I scoffed and turned around to leave.
Instead of grabbing my arm, he followed me to the heart of the garden. I wanted to step inside my house and shut the door in his face, but my feet had begun to betray me. So I stood at the entrance to the flat, imprisoned by my own complex bundle of emotions.
It was quieter in the garden and even though I was facing away from him, I could hear his voice clear as day.
‘I knew I loved you … I was just too scared to admit it,’ he was saying from behind me.
I could’ve pushed the door open and left. I knew he wouldn’t have physically tried to stop me. But I couldn’t drown out the little voice of longing that had begun to ring in my ears.
‘You went and got engaged , Aadar,’ I said, the hurt seeping through my voice. ‘I’m supposed to believe all that’s just over?’
‘It has been, for over two weeks now …’ his voice was gentler as he turned me around to face him.
‘How do I know you won’t change your mind again and go marry the very next girl your meddling parents find for you?’ I demanded, still too raw to let down my guard.
It was hard for me to meet his eye. I knew my resolve would crumble under his toasty gaze.
‘Hey, don’t shit on my parents,’ he said, holding up one finger and angling his face to the right. ‘They were the ones who found you in the first place.’
Despite my best efforts to control my facial muscles, a smile slipped out. Aadar’s face lit up.
‘Can we just … start over?’ His expression was solemn, his eyes penetrative.
‘How do you propose we do that?’ I asked, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his forehead in thought. ‘You could let me take you out on a date.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, pretending to mull it over.
‘Or I could go inside right now and hit your parents with a rishta,’ he teased. ‘The choice is yours.’
‘Oh God.’ I held my hand up. ‘No, no rishtas please.’
I had no clue when or how our fight had dissolved into the familiar territory of cheerful banter, but I couldn’t deny that I was thankful for it. His relief, too, was almost palpable.
He pulled me into his arms with one light tug on my wrist.
‘I’m sorry, Ananya,’ he whispered as he looked down at me. ‘For being such a dud about this.’
‘A dud? I think you mean a complete dickhead … douchebag, maybe, or… oooh I know,’ I said, enjoying the proximity between our faces. ‘A dildo.’
He watched me for a few seconds, amused, before bending down to shut me up.
When his lips met mine, they didn’t carry the same urgency they had from the night of the Best Man reception. They were patient and leisurely, as if they knew they had all the time in the world to be pressed against mine.
If my life was a romcom, I’d be safe in the knowledge that a happily ever after awaited me after the turn of this page.
I would open my heart to this man, love him, be loved by him, maybe pass on that love to a couple of young ones, grow old with him and spend my life knowing I couldn’t have asked for more. But this isn’t that kind of a story.
This is a story about a bet.
‘Does this mean I won?’ I asked, and he threw his head back in laughter.